Trees are Peaceful Havens
When I was little I used to climb every tree I could; even though I was kind of afraid of heights. Going up was a challenge but, coming down was really hard for me. It was that all too short a time in the middle that was magical. I would find a good spot and squiggle into it. Legs dangling. Arms wrapped around a convenient limb…just in case, I would assure myself. I would sit there, at what seemed hundreds of feet in the air to me. There I had a commanding view of my yard, the top of my neighbor’s garage and all the way to the alley behind it.
My tree was a Pecan tree. It was constantly occupied by bids and the occasional brave or un-wary squirrel. I sat still as a mouse, just watching them until they were gone. Usually scared away by my very noisy little brother who often camped at the base of the tree because he couldn’t reach the first limb. This actually me in my Pecan Tree in the 50’s
As I swayed with the branches in the breeze I would often talk to the tree as if it was a cowboy hero horse. “Easy now, take it slow. It’s just the wind” I’d whisper and stroke the limb. My tree would respond to me with a rustle and a creak and slowly return to its motionless state. I loved to feel the wood… worn smooth from my content straddling and sliding around. I love the feel of wood… sanded smooth, or the aroma of crushed cedar bark. It pains me to have to have a tree removed. I’m not a tree hugger. I’m a tree lover. They are living things. So, if a tree falls in the woods and no-one is around…is there a chance it could poke its eye out with a stick. Let’s just hope not.
In closing …To this day, I’ll sit on a roof, a dear stand or balcony and just watch, listen and reflect. There is a peace there for me…and I shall forever seek it out. Peace and Blessings
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I enjoy receiving comments and questions. Please leave them below. -Peace
Whether whimsical, serious, abstract, done in ink, watercolor, acrylics, oil or enamel, on a board, a scratch pad or a canvas… “What it is, is what it is….it just falls out of my mind into the pen”. Richard Davies has been a writer, artist and musician most of his 67 years. Though very eclectic in his median, each is used to create a tangible representation of an important moment, event or thought from the minutest everyday occurrence to the earth shattering event that numbs the mind.
Hi Richard, my favorite place when I was a kid was a tree. I built a tree-house and would race home after school, get a sandwich, my cat Jingles and a book. I’d sit there for hours at a time watching people passing by and listening to their mumbled chatter. I miss those days.
Thanks for sharing.
Brian